


yellow and purple

by omello



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Playing Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omello/pseuds/omello
Summary: Wes isn't the greatest at piano, and Anton is surprisingly willing to help.





	yellow and purple

**Author's Note:**

> mostly based off of this lmao :')  
> https://twitter.com/diplo/status/872524093634953216

The fact that someone was in the back room after the show was weird enough — usually people were still riding off their adrenaline high, or had already gone off to party, or were buzzing around backstage conversing with one another. The fact that someone was back here playing piano? Even weirder. But the part that took Anton by surprise the most was the fact that it was  _ Wes _ , of all people. He was staring intently at the piano as though it were a puzzle as he played, tongue sticking out from his mouth so very slightly.

 

Anton barked a laugh as he entered the room, the notes coming from the instrument slow and calculated; obviously, this wasn't something Wes frequented.

 

“You sound kinda like shit,” Anton snarked playfully, an eyebrow raised. 

 

Wes’ reply was sharp, and honestly unexpected. “I fucking  _ know _ , okay? I don't need you to tell me this shit,” he scowled, speaking through gritted teeth. His concentration from the keys hadn't broken, but he looked all the more frustrated about his endeavor. Eventually, as the room remained silent, he let out a sigh and pulled his hands away from the piano entirely.

 

“Fuck it. I give up.” And then he was looking up, glaring at Anton. “What the fuck do you  _ want _ , Zaslavski?” 

 

Anton froze, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared wordlessly at Wes. He really hadn’t meant to piss the man off, but to be fair they weren't exactly friends. At all. 

 

He swallowed, finally swaying a little towards the piano. 

 

“What are you trying to play? Here—” The decision was impulsive, but Anton moved behind Wes, resting his hands on his shoulders as he bent forward to get a look at the sheet music displayed in front of them. He smiled despite himself. 

 

“A beautiful piece,” he mused. “Fairly easy, too.”

 

That, apparently, was not what Wes wanted to hear. “Fuck  _ you _ ,” he growled and accentuated he words with an elbow to Anton’s torso, who only frowned as he stumbled backwards.

 

“I  _ meant _ that it should be easy enough for you to get down,” he explained with a huff. He moved to stand behind Wes again once he thought he heard the smallest, most reluctant  _ ‘sorry’ _ fall from the man’s lips.

 

“Play what you know,” Anton instructed, and watched as Wes’ hands hesitantly returned to the piano. His playing seemed much more nervous now, the knowledge that Anton was here with him,  _ watching _ him, definitely not a helpful factor. The song, despite being a little choppy, was at least recognizable when it hit the air. 

 

A shift in notes had Wes’ hands moving a bit lower on the piano, and his playing only got messier. Anton frowned.

 

“Here,” he instructed, “Put your hands like this.”

 

Without warning, he reached down and took Wes’ hands in his own for a moment, before rearranging the man’s fingers. Anton felt him go rigid beneath the touch, but didn't mention it. Once the position was corrected, Anton leaned away. “There. With your pinky on that note, it should make it easier. It may be uncomfortable at first, though. Just— just try it.”

 

Wes swallowed, attempting furiously to avoid Anton’s gaze, hoping it wasn't too noticeable. He began playing, and Anton was right; his flow was a lot smoother. A small hum escaped him as he nodded in thanks, and Anton’s hands rested again on his shoulders while he continued to play.

 

The bridge to the chorus was the hardest part, and it showed in his playing. Wes growled softly as he attempted to perform it once, twice, three times, before he again said  _ “fuck it” _ and pulled his hands away.

 

“No, no, here, put your hands on the keys again,” Anton said quickly, leaning over Wes— it was incredibly distracting, the way their bodies were pressed so close together. Wes ignored it.

 

Once he did as he was told, hands returning to their previous position, Anton’s own hands were on them again. He shifted a little until their fingers were matched together, and the touch didn't let up.

 

“Like  _ this _ .”

 

Anton’s fingers began to move, his hands settled firmly on top of Wes’, causing his fingers to move as well. The melody played out softly and smoothly, and Wes was trying his goddamn hardest to focus on learning this shit instead of the way Anton’s hands felt on his, or the way he could feel the man’s breath ghosting his ear, his chest pressing warmly to his back.

 

Wes let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Anton finished, and pulled away. He turned to look up at Anton despite his better judgement, and the German was beaming.

 

“See!” Anton cheered, “You sounded  _ great _ . It only takes time and practice, you'll be able to get it.”

 

Wes found himself smiling back, a lazy grin settled onto his face. “Thanks,” he laughed, and cursed the way his voice wavered slightly.

 

Anton gave his goodbyes then, deciding they were apparently once again friendly enough to depart with a hug. Aside from the  _ look _ Anton gave him, if he noticed the way Wes was flustered, he didn't mention it. And Wes was fucking grateful for that.

**Author's Note:**

> the day I stop shipping this awful ship is truly the day I die hope u enjoyed


End file.
